


practice makes perfect

by owlsshadows



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drinking, M/M, Sloppy Makeouts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-05 06:41:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16805467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlsshadows/pseuds/owlsshadows
Summary: Sugawara decides to drink his problems away - what he never expects is that he meets Oikawa at the bar.





	practice makes perfect

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone! Your neighborhood cryptid is back to deliver yet another drunk OiSuga scenario. I hope you enjoy~
> 
> I listened to Megalovania while writing the makeout scene, so I apologize beforehand :D

The night is young, and so is the man in a crumpled suit leaning on the counter, eyeing his drink with watery eyes.

“There’s this senior at work,” he says, his voice hitching with the hiccup that finds him mid-sentence, “who looks at me with want in his eyes.”

His hands come up, fisting his silver-blond hair in frustration.

“But he has family. Wife and son waiting for him at home. I can’t possibly… I’m not a homewrecker.”

“So you would consider him if he was single?” asks a voice.

“I like him. I really like him. He’s a reliable, knowledgeable person with charm and humor.”

“Is he attractive?” the voice pries deeper.

“Attraction has little to do with looks,” the man laughs dryly, fingers tapping on the sides of his glass, turning it.

“I hope you noticed that the bartender left a while ago,” the other comments, amusement clear in his voice.

“I addressed my words to this shot of tequila but thanks for the concern.”

“Sugawara, was it?”

The man casts a glance sideways, raising an eyebrow.

“Oikawa,” he replies.

“That would be me,” the voice replies, this time accompanied by a face just a tad too charming to be trusted.

Sugawara snorts, downing his drink.

“Great. You look just as handsome as on TV. You know, I was hoping that you would age badly and that what I see on the screen is all thanks to filters and makeup…”

“Filters and makeup do quite a lot, actually,” Oikawa laughs in reply. “But nothing is compared to my natural good looks.”

“Lovely,” Sugawara replies, eyeing his empty glass with an intense gaze, internally praying for some miracle to happen that would support his alcohol consumption. Yet, his glass does not magically refill itself, and he is forced to look back at Oikawa.

Oikawa, who looks dashing as ever, face oh-so-chiseled and hair that could fit in a hairspray commercial any day.

Oikawa, the best setter in high school volleyball Sugawara knew.

Oikawa, the playboy who has always been way too popular.

Oikawa, whose professional career Sugawara followed – his flame so bright but short-lived.

Oikawa.

“What does a star sports commentator like you do down here in Miyagi?” Sugawara asks the first question that comes to mind.

“I hope star sports commentators are allowed to visit their families?” Oikawa glances back at him, mockery clearly recognizable in his voice.

“Well, I suppose they do, but who am I to decide?” Sugawara replies, waving to the bartender for another shot.

“It was the graduation of my nephew today,” Oikawa says.

His honestly surprises Sugawara. He doesn’t owe Sugawara anything that would warrant this exchange of information – or is this a normal thing to do, Sugawara wonders, alcohol blurring the lines separating his thoughts.

The atmosphere in the office he works at is not ideal, far from it. People tend to keep everything to themselves, and they work long hours, spending all their days from early in the morning until late into the evening in their cubicles. So maybe he has reflected his own workplace experience to the world, Sugawara thinks, and maybe his exposure to anything apart from work has been so limited lately, that he finds anything not work related strange.

“Congratulations,” he replies. “Middle school?”

“Actually, high school. My brother is much older than me and got married early, so I’ve spent most of my life as an uncle.”

“Nice.”

“Do you have any siblings?”

“No,” Sugawara breathes into his glass.

Silence settles between them. Sugawara orders another shot, sprinkles salt on his hand, licks it, downs his tequila. He is in the process of biting down on a slice of lime scrunching up his face, when he hears Oikawa snicker.

He turns, lime still between his teeth, squinting a glare at his former volleyball adversary.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just found you amusing.”

“Yeah? Why?”

“You don’t quite seem to enjoy your drink.”

“Honestly, it’s awful,” Sugawara nods in agreement. “But it gets me drunk fast, so all is well.”

“Why do you want to get drunk so much?” Oikawa enquires.

“Do you know the bliss of forgetting about your problems for a while, Oikawa?”

A pair of raised eyebrows, a musing smile, a bit lower lip is all the response he gets at first. Oikawa takes his time answering, running his finger up on the side of his bottle of beer, chasing away the droplets of water gathered on the surface of the glass. By the time his lips open, a tired sigh escaping them, Sugawara is focused on even the tiniest of Oikawa’s movements with every fiber of his body.

“When I got injured,” Oikawa starts in a voice that sounds somewhat distant, reserved even, so unlike the image Sugawara has of Oikawa, “I would’ve killed myself if anyone let me drink. During my rehabilitation at the hospital, I had many thoughts of drowning myself in alcohol, drink until I forget who I am and where I belong. The thing is,” he continues, more lively, “the hospital is not a place where one can simply smuggle in enough booze to be stupid drunk, especially not when all of his friends are on his watch.”

“Do you think I’m pitiful?” Sugawara asks, turning his empty glass over and placing it on the already wet counter. “Compared to an injury that breaks your career–”

“There’s no need for comparison when it comes to the struggles of people,” Oikawa cuts in, placing a hand on Sugawara’s momentarily, only to draw it back on his bottle the next second. “I don’t think that you’re pitiful, Sugawara. If anything, I find you to be someone with an indomitable spirit.”

“Do you think I’m still the same person I was in high school?” Sugawara asks dryly, searching Oikawa’s eyes for a sign of mockery. He finds none – Oikawa looks at him with the same devotion he shows looking at footage from a sports events.

“You can tell me,” Oikawa replies. “About the thing you spoke to your shot of tequila.”

Sugawara contemplates, drawing circles in the liquid on the countertop.

“I don’t want to become a homewrecker,” he says finally.

“That’s understandable,” Oikawa replies after Sugawara doesn’t continue. “No one with conscience would want to.”

“But… nobody has ever looked at me with this much love in their eyes before,” Sugawara says, voice small and heart trembling.

“And you return these feelings.”

“I feel as if it was some ugly joke of fate.”

“It is,” Oikawa assures. “Not that I blame him for falling for you, but as a married man he should really not overstep his–”

“No, wait, he didn’t do anything.”

“He made you aware of his feelings somehow, did he not?”

“Well, yes, but he never invited me out or offered me anything, so–”

“Good,” Oikawa says, leaning a bit back. “He shouldn’t.”

“He wouldn’t. I think,” Sugawara nods along. He orders another drink, something with martini this time, that comes conveniently with a paper umbrella to fiddle with. Oikawa at the same time pushes his empty beer bottle towards the bartender, signaling for another.

Sugawara waits, swaying slightly in his chair, until Oikawa gets his drink before sipping his own, eyes fixed on a scratch on the counter.

“You should not worry too much about it,” Oikawa offers. “If he tries anything, you report it. If not, you’d better forget about the whole thing. You can find someone way better.”

“Hah,” Sugawara says, and hiccups before he continues. “You say it as if it was easy.”

“I mean… if you want to ride a dick, I’m positive I can offer you a better option than that married senior at work.”

“Thank you, Oikawa, that’s really nice of you.”

“Oh, sarcasm!” Oikawa laughs, hiding his smile behind his beer. His eyes, bare to Sugawara, glisten in the lights of the bar. “I was honest though,” he adds in a voice much lower.

“Hah,” Sugawara replies. He can’t seem to drag his eyes away from Oikawa, from the way his eyes look at him, from the smirk barely hidden by the neck of the beer bottle.

Dangerous.

Sugawara glances down at Oikawa’s arms, slightly tanned and muscular under his rolled up shirt sleeve, and he eyes his fingers specifically, long and lean, holding a bottle of beer.

Positively ringless.

“You know what,” he laments, “it doesn’t even sound that bad.”

☆

Taking the first step towards something is dangerously easy. It takes some courage to take it, yes, but once it’s done it’s done for good. Taking the next step seems so much more confusing.

One moment Sugawara flirts with Oikawa in a bar, the next he is sitting beside him in a taxi heading towards Higashi-Sendai. Sugawara fiddles a little in the seat, feeling a little lost. His head starts throbbing and swaying as soon as the car starts, so he rather than looking out the window, he tries to keep his eyes on Oikawa, a relatively unmoving and not all that unpleasant sight. He focuses on Oikawa’s carefree chitter and to his best gives adequate replies.

It surprises him that Oikawa owns an apartment in Sendai – for some reason he has always imagined that hotshot sports commentators must live in Tokyo. It surprises him even more to find that Oikawa’s apartment is quite cozy, nothing flashy or extravagant. A tidy living room, furnished functionally rather than flamboyantly, a kitchen that just by one glance is obviously frequently used. For a second the image of Oikawa cooking flashes before Sugawara’s eyes, and he finds it quite endearing, before he is herded by the owner towards the comfortable looking couch on the other end of the living room.

Oikawa doesn’t attack him as soon as the door closes behind them. He leads Sugawara to the couch, seats him, makes sure he feels comfortable, then leaves to get Sugawara a glass of water. He is a gentleman beyond expectations and Sugawara curses himself for his overzealous fantasies and prejudice. He always imagined Oikawa as the embodiment of the playboy extravaganza, when all in all, the real Oikawa seems to be a sociable and kind person so far. Of course, Oikawa was childish as a teenager, picking fights with Kageyama whenever he had the chance. But so was Sugawara, with his overexcited demeanor and lame puns. It hits a nerve, just how off his mischaracterization of Oikawa was, making Sugawara feel restless and useless at the same time.

After a few seconds of sitting in the living room alone, he decides to head after Oikawa. As he stands, a dizzy spell overcomes him, prompting him to think about all the drinks he downed before Oikawa joined him.

He started with beer.

Then he saw some couple walking by, reminding him of his own loneliness, urging him to immediately drown himself in alcohol and he switched to tequila.

Or was there something with vodka in between? He faintly remembers ordering a cocktail, but cannot pinpoint exactly when it was.

Sugawara has a great resistance to alcohol, except when he decides that he wants to get drunk and mixes all kinds of it. And at the moment, swaying towards Oikawa’s kitchen on wobbly legs and nonexistent sense of direction, Sugawara feels positively inebriated. His brain functions, his thoughts work – mostly – but the body that carries him is a ship that lost its steering, flouncing across the sea that is the floor.

“Oikawa, I–” he starts reaching the kitchen door, only for the doorframe to reach him first, head on.

Oikawa, who stands by the counter examining a glass against the light of the lamp, looks up at the loud bam.

“Ouch,” he comments as Sugawara stumbles in, bump raising on his forehead rapidly.

“Sorry,” Sugawara mumbles, pressing his hand against the bump. “I think I may have drunk a little too much.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Oikawa says, placing the glass back on the counter and jumping to Sugawara’s side. “Show me your head.”

Sugawara lets Oikawa nudge his hand off his forehead and pull him under the light for a quick examination.

“You’re lucky it’s not your nose,” Oikawa snorts, stepping to the fridge. “Let me find some ice. We have to cool it down, unless you’ll have a big purple bump on your head by tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“But I am,” Sugawara insists. “I took you up on your offer, and here I make an idiot out of myself.”

Oikawa only shakes his head in reply, half disappearing in the freezer. He rummages through a few almost empty boxes of ice cream and bags of deep frozen ready-made food in search for the ice cubes he has ready for any case his ex-teammates decide to hop over – except he finds none when he would need them the most. Better solution yet to be found, he takes a small bag of frozen fries and wraps it in a clean kitchen clothe.

“Here you go,” he says, placing the package on top of Sugawara’s head.

“Thanks,” Sugawara replies, a bashful blush tinting his ears.

Oikawa’s hand lingers, holding the ice in place even after Sugawara took hold of it. His pinky brushes against Sugawara’s in an almost playful way.

“And really,” he says. “Don’t fret it. You have it tough.”

“I planned to be drunk as in losing my inhibitions, not drunk as in losing my footing,” Sugawara lets out a dry laugh in reply.

“Alcohol is nasty like that,” Oikawa hums, lifting the ice pack to inspect the bump before pressing it back in place. “It never does what you want from it.”

“You don’t seem affected at all,” Sugawara mumbles dejected.

“I had two beers,” Oikawa replies. “Not a dozen crazy shots.”

Sugawara makes a noise somewhere in between groaning and whining.

“Here,” Oikawa steps back, filling the glass that stands on the counter with water. “You may be a bit dehydrated.”

“Are you this nice to all of your former rivals?” Sugawara asks, taking the water.

“Well,” Oikawa says, tapping a finger over his lips in a theatrical act to mimic thinking, “I can’t say that. As you’re the first ‘former rival’ I tried to woo, there’s no ample comparison to draw such conclusion.”

“That’s almost flattering,” Sugawara says, swaying dangerously and finding support in the counter. “Now I feel even more like an idiot for messing up my golden opportunity.”

“The night is long,” Oikawa replies flirtatiously, raising his own glass of water in toast. “Now, let’s head back to the couch. You seem dizzy.”

“You bet I am.”

“Well, at least,” Oikawa says, jumping on the sofa and sprawling across half of it, “you can say that you reached your goal. You didn’t drink that nasty tequila for nothing, you got drunk! Congratulations!”

“Thanks,” Sugawara deadpans. He lowers himself to the empty seat slow and careful, with minimal movement to his head, which has been spinning even before he head-butted the doorframe, but since then it clearly threatens with exploding.

Silence settles between them like a cozy cushion, filling the spaces where Sugawara feels pain – in the air just above his head, right beside his temple and under his chin. It soothes him, helping him ease into the softness of the sofa and lay his head onto one of Oikawa’s giant mint colored decorative cushions. He quite likes the velvety touch of fabric on his skin, and he rolls his head slightly, almost unconsciously to fit it better against his face. If he was not about to die from a headache now, he may even enjoy this.

It took him by surprise to see just how normal Oikawa could be – even though he is a popular TV personality now, often hosting sports programs and interviewing people at all kinds of prestigious places like the Olympics, he has kept less of his antics from when they were in high school. Less flare, less gleam, less drama accompanies the same perfect features, the same perfect hair and those warm brown eyes Sugawara wishes he wouldn’t get lost in so easily.

“So, did it worth it?” Oikawa asks after a while, breaking eye contact by lifting his gaze to the windows, looking out at the lights of the town. If Sugawara takes this signal right, it means to give him space, to make him feel comfortable and to tell him that he can take his time answering.

Sugawara doesn’t need much time, for his brain aches painfully whenever he moves.

“Getting drunk never worth it,” he growls in reply, lifting his head just so to drink a few gulps of water before sinking back to his comfortable cocoon. “Meeting you, however, is an unexpected perk.”

“Is that so?” Oikawa asks, glancing at Sugawara from the corner of his eye.

“I’m sorry I became such a useless drunk. You must have had more interesting things in mind than chatting on the sofa.”

“I can make some popcorn to spice things up,” Oikawa jests, the corner of his lip curling up suspiciously.

Sugawara’s hand reaches Oikawa’s ribs before he can stop himself, and he jabs the taller boy with his usual, unrestrained force out of a routine that he could never quite drop even after high school was over. Bad jokes, no matter who told them, deserved a punch – same as those who said anything self-deprecating in the vicinity of Sugawara. _He really deserves a good punch from himself by now_ , comes the thought, and quickly as it comes, it disappears, leaving only a grimace on his face to mirror Oikawa’s, who rubs at his side painfully.

“Ouch,” Oikawa comments, puzzled as he turns to Sugawara. “What was this for?”

“So you can feel the pain I have to endure from your terrible sense of humor,” Sugawara mumbles.

The look in Oikawa’s big, warm eyes softens as an honest smile spreads across his face. “Alright, that’s fair,” he says and decides to turn his body to face Sugawara, pulling one leg under him on the couch. “No popcorn then.”

“I wish I stopped at the third beer,” Sugawara replies, reaching out aimlessly in Oikawa’s general direction. His fingers brush against the soft fabric of Oikawa’s shirt ruffled into one big crease by his elbow, gliding down onto the muscular arm, tracing a vein along until the wrist, where he gets lost in the maze of tiny wrinkles.

He remembers this hand well, twisting the ball before sending it across the court with inhuman power and precision. He remembers Oikawa’s game well; he always watched it in awe, be it from the sidelines, the other side of the net or through the television screen. Knowing that he had to retire due to his injury, Sugawara still finds Oikawa to be the best setter he has ever seen playing.

His fingers slide downward, running thoughtlessly along the inner edge Oikawa’s thumb, until Oikawa suddenly closes his hand around Sugawara’s. It reminds Sugawara of the Venus flytrap; a carnivorous plant he has watched some documentary on the other day.

“Caught you.”

“I can see.”

“Yeah,” Oikawa says, linking his fingers in between Sugawara’s. His touch is so gentle, Sugawara wonders if these really are the same hands that smashed the ball mercilessly into their opponents’ territory during volleyball matches. “I also wish you stopped at the third beer…” Oikawa trails off, leaning in for a chaste kiss.

It tastes like watered down beer.

It doesn’t bode well with Sugawara’s perturbed senses.

And as much as he wishes to feel for those lips again, the slight alcohol smell of Oikawa’s breath throws him into an overdrive.

Pushing Oikawa away, but still clinging into his shirt somehow for support, Sugawara looks up into Oikawa’s confused eyes with panic.

“Bathroom?” he asks hurriedly.

Oikawa motions towards the corridor.

“Second door to the right,” he says. “Can you walk there alone?”

“I will,” Sugawara stands, the sudden urge to vomit attacking him with renewed power from the movement. “Or not.”

“Ok, I’ll take you then,” Oikawa replies, standing up so quickly Sugawara can’t follow it with his eyes.

For a split second, Sugawara is worried for the literalness of Oikawa’s offer, imagining himself being carried princess style towards the toilet to put a royally fucked up ending to the night by vomiting right onto Oikawa’s shirt while being carried – but Oikawa has no acrobatics in mind, instead he plants a firm hand on each of Sugawara’s shoulders, gently pushing Sugawara towards the bathroom with hurried steps.

They reach the door, and it opens before Sugawara – concurrently one of Oikawa’s hands disappears from his shoulder temporarily.

“Here we go,” Oikawa says, propelling towards the toilet. He lifts the seat, gesturing at the bowl elegantly. “At your service.”

“Ugh,” Sugawara replies to his best knowledge before he drops to his knees.

Vomiting in front of Oikawa was not in his plans when he accepted his offer.

☆

“Should I open the window for some fresh air?” Oikawa asks after Sugawara drank some tap water and brushed his teeth with a brand new toothbrush Oikawa pulls out of seemingly thin air – though more likely from the bathroom cabinet, and they safely returned to the couch in the living room.

“You’re reading my mind,” Sugawara replies, voice barely an exasperated sigh.

“Good,” Oikawa nods, stepping to one of the windows.

Sugawara’s head still hurts enough not to move around much, but he feels much more steady after getting rid of the contents of his stomach.

He looks up at Oikawa from the hollow he squirmed himself into in the huge mint colored cushion, half guilt-ridden and half dying. His heart flutters in his chest and his blood rushes in his veins in an alarming tempo. He feels like a newborn child, like a teenager on his first date, like a somewhat lost lamb in the wilderness.

“Thank you,” he says faintly, croaking.

Oikawa returns to his side and without a word hands him his glass of water.

It tastes sweet.

“I drank too much,” Sugawara says, somewhat apologetic.

“At least most of it is out now.”

“Thank you for not laughing at me.”

“Why would I.”

“Why not? I’m pitiful.”

“If you look for pity, I have none to offer,” Oikawa says, entwining their fingers again.

“What if I wish for a kiss?” Sugawara asks back.

“Well,” Oikawa says, leaning teasingly close and grimacing instantly. “You still kind of smell like puke.”

Sugawara laughs, cocking his head back. He doesn’t feel hurt the least by Oikawa’s words – if anything, he is amazed by the tenderness of Oikawa’s hand on his. What he could not get by drinking, Sugawara grasps in the soft touch of an old rival – shredding his inhibitions with ease.

“That may be the case. However,” he says ducking his head in the crook of Oikawa’s neck and delighting in the way a breath hitches in Oikawa’s throat, “kisses are not restricted to the mouth only.”

Kissing down on Oikawa’s neck, Sugawara nips and bites down the skin softly, drawing out a deep, yet surprised moan from Oikawa. Sugawara delights in the sound as he feels it vibrate in Oikawa’s throat against his lips, urging him to trail his kisses further down onto the half exposed collarbone.

“How do you find my alternative solution?” Sugawara asks, fiddling with the buttons on Oikawa’s shirt.

“God, you’re good.” Oikawa replies, hands finding Sugawara’s neck, fingers running in between the locks of Sugawara’s ash blond hair, tugging at them softly.

Sugawara lets Oikawa pull his head away, flashing a smile at him.

“Mind if I continue?” he asks, voice drunk and eyes heavy.

“I don’t,” Oikawa breathes a sigh, caressing Sugawara’s temple with his thumb.

Sugawara ducks again, lips finding the pulse of Oikawa’s neck again. Pushing fabric out of his way, he continues his kisses down Oikawa’s shoulder and chest. His hands find Oikawa’s nipples, and for a while he looks up; watching intently for Oikawa’s reaction as his fingers brush over them with a ghost-light touch.

He enthralls in the sounds Oikawa makes, and he pinches down before his lips follow suit. When his teeth and tongue finds Oikawa’s nipple, his hands slide further down, and he only feels slightly jealous of the abdominal muscles that flex under his touch.

Pushing Oikawa down on the couch, Sugawara litters small, lazy kisses from Oikawa’s sternum down.

He is halfway to the hem of Oikawa’s jeans when his eyes catch sight of his belly button, so invitingly sleek. He flutters his eyelids close before he leans in for a kiss, darting his tongue out to dip into the delicious depths of Oikawa’s navel, hands plastered around on his deliciously muscular waist –

– the next thing Sugawara knows, a loud metallic clang makes him jump, and he nearly falls from the couch. His head shots up – way too fast for the headache he has – eyes opening to the room filled with sunshine.

He looks around, even though he knows it is in vain. Oikawa is not anywhere near him; the only thing under him on the couch is one of those huge mint colored cushions he was probably hugging in his sleep.

Following a second clang, Sugawara hears stifled cursing from the kitchen. He wiggles out of the blanket that has been wrapped around him like nori around a maki roll, and walks up to the door with slightly swaying, heavy steps. He is positively hungover. His head hurts. Sounds and light hurts. His muscles scream why they have to carry his weight.

Finally, as he reaches the doorframe and leans against it for support, he sees Oikawa, fresh and clean, with hair still slightly wet behind his ears. He smells good, and he looks cute, sticking out his tongue as he focuses with squinting eyes on cracking an egg open.

Sugawara watches in silence as Oikawa fails, knocking the egg just too forcefully against the edge of the bowl, smashing it in half rather than creating an opening.

“If you give me ten minutes to clean myself up a bit, I can help you with that,” Sugawara says, surprised by how normal his voice sounds contrary to how shitty he feels.

“Oh,” Oikawa says in reply, raising his head from examining the remnants of the egg on the counter. “Good morning. You look terrible.”

“Thanks, I feel terrible too,” Sugawara laughs, cracking his shoulders. “Though admittedly, your couch is quite comfortable.”

“Great.”

“When did I fall asleep?”

Oikawa blushes in reply.

“Foreplay,” he purses his lips. He seems visibly awkward, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, inching closer to the counter as if he could hide the mess he has created already. “So uh… how much you remember?”

“All of it, I guess?” Sugawara replies, scratching the back of his head before going in for a bow. “I’m so terribly sorry for ruining your night last night.”

“You did not,” Oikawa replies, fast and surprisingly strict in tone. Before Sugawara can look up, Oikawa’s hands are holding him by the shoulder, pulling him up to a standing position. “Don’t you ever bow in my kitchen ever. If anything is ruined, that’d be the breakfast I planned to make.”

“I can help with that,” Sugawara offers again, only for Oikawa to press a – slightly sticky from eggs – finger across his lips.

“Shh. You go, take a shower, get ready, do whatever you need to do. I put a fresh towel out for you. I make breakfast.”

“But…”

“I am perfectly able to make breakfast, thanks for your concern,” Oikawa says, turning his back on Sugawara. “Go, take a shower.”

“Thanks,” Sugawara says.

“No need. Though, if I were you, I would take a day of absence. You look terrible.”

“Thanks,” Sugawara smiles. “I will manage.”

Oikawa glances over his shoulder, casting a curious look at him.

“I will,” Sugawara assures.

“If you say so.”

Sugawara walks to the bathroom and turns on the light. He finds not only a fresh towel but a fresh shirt too waiting for him on a hanger. A sense gratefulness washes over him with an assortment of troubling feelings in tow, summoning the squeamish little monster nesting in the pit of his stomach.

He wants to walk back in the kitchen and kiss Oikawa’s dumb stupid face.

So he does it.

☆

Marching into the kitchen, catching Oikawa in the middle of salvaging his ruined eggs, Sugawara walks up to him, grabs that pretty face of his, and captures those pouty lips between his.

In hindsight, it might have been wiser if he brushed his teeth beforehand. But he feels so good, even his headache has mercy on him as he deepens the kiss.

“Thanks,” he says finally, when their lips separate with a pop. “I know I don’t deserve you and I already played and ruined my one chance, but would you let me somehow correct yesterday’s mistake?”

“Hnn,” Oikawa says, looking at him from behind half-mast lids. “No chances ruined, not at all.” He pecks Sugawara’s lips quickly before turning back to his eggs. “In this case, I want a repeat.”

“A repeat?” Sugawara asks back, tilting his head to the side.

“Of yesterday’s,” Oikawa smiles back at him, cracking an egg and pouring it flawlessly into the bowl. “After all, practice makes perfect.”

Sugawara snorts at this.

“Doubt you would want to repeat the entirety of yesterday,” he says.

“Why not?” Oikawa replies. “Make everything the same, but have you drink a little less?”

“Pfft.”

“Same place. Let’s say, tonight?” Oikawa continues, and the look he sends towards Sugawara takes his breath away.

“See you there after work?” Sugawara asks back, voice high pitched as his heart just decided to press on his vocal cords.

“Sounds wonderful. What time do you finish?”

There are many things Sugawara wishes he could forget – the drinks, the vomiting, the terrible failure of falling asleep on top of Oikawa – but the smile Oikawa sends him is something he wishes he could cherish forever.


End file.
